The Brighter the Light, the Deeper the Shadows
by thousandunreadpages
Summary: This story takes place after the events of A Court of Wings and Ruin and before A Court of Frost and Starlight. Lucien and Azriel, after realizing that Elain is actually a strong, independent woman who is more than capable of being alone, now have nothing but their own baggage to work through before they can finally be together.


The wind moved roughly across the mountain peaks, raking its cool fingers through Lucien's hair. Because the Night Court was a Solar Court, it changed seasons like the mortal realms. Now it was winter, but the frigid air reminded him of home—or, at least, what once was home. Lucien, despite his uniquely miserable childhood, still had fond memories of the Autumn Court. He could remember walking through the forest with the kindest of his brothers, feeling the pleasant give of the ground covered in brilliantly-colored autumn leaves. His memories quickly soured, however, as they always did when he remembered that the beauty of the autumn court was truly the beauty of death and decay. And nothing in the Autumn Court was more rotten than his family.

Lucien sighed, a quick, surprisingly violent burst of air. It was not the first time he had stood outside the Court of Dreams, overlooking the star-flecked night, waiting for dawn to break. It was beautiful, the stars hanging low enough that Lucien almost believed he could reach out and touch them. Unfortunately, his mind would not allow him to enjoy the view in peace. His thoughts often ran in circles, returning to the same painful memories over and over. His father. Jesminda. Amarantha. Hybern. Even the memory of Tamlin, now, despite decades of friendship, was tainted with the events of the last year.

And then there was Elain. His almost mate. From the moment he felt the mating bond, the moment he saw her as a fae, he knew she was the one. When he fled the Spring Court with Feyre and found himself near Elain, so close to her when she was so far away, it felt like dying. All he had wanted was to help her—to reach her, in whatever way he could.

Now, after war had come and gone, Elain was improving. She was mastering herself, coming into her own as a seer. And, as Lucien had discovered, she did not need him for that. At least, not in the way the Cauldron thought they needed each other. Most people considered Elain the weakest of the Archeron siblings, but there was a quiet strength in her that had, over the past few weeks, made itself known to everyone in the Court of Dreams. Elain Archeron was healing—and she didn't need a man getting in the way.

Still, even after agreeing that their relationship was better served as friends than mates, it was a sore spot for Lucien. His one assurance at happiness for the rest of his, now looking to be impossibly long, immortal life was gone. Through his years at the Autumn Court, through his years at the Spring Court, through his time Under the Mountain, he had held hope in his heart that, one day, he might find happiness with another. Now he wasn't so sure.

The first threads of dawn stretched over the horizon, pulling him from his ruminations. Although he wasn't in the Dawn Court, the beauty of the rising sun took his breath away. He didn't know if it was the new knowledge of his true father, but Lucien now felt a comfort, a kinship even, in the sun. Dawn meant a new day, burning away the dark thoughts of the night, and, despite everything, giving him the hope of better times to come.

###

It had almost become a routine, Lucien's nightly trips to the upper floors in the Court of Dreams, the balconies exposed to the night sky. It was better than lying in bed, sleepless, staring up at the ceiling, wondering about all the things that might have been; all the things he couldn't change. Now he wondered all these things under the stars, which, Lucien thought with wry amusement, was a much more scenic spot to be miserable.

That morning though, it appeared his routine would be interrupted. As he walked down from his nightly haunt into one of the small kitchens, hungry after his sleepless night, he found Azriel standing at the pantry, scrounging for food. Lucien froze, unsure.

He was surprised to find himself alone in a room with Azriel, surprised that the idea of it left him slightly unsteady. They had been circling each other for weeks now, both on the outskirts of the Court –Azriel, it seemed, by nature, Lucien by nature of his position as an outsider. They had never actually spoken, just the two of them.

He wouldn't say he was intimidated by the other male, but Azriel—Az, as Feyre called him—did cut an imposing figure. Dressed in black flying leathers, massive, membranous wings tucked close to his body, and shadows coiling around him, Az truly embodied his title of Shadowsinger. It didn't make him feel any more comfortable when Az glanced up at him with those cool, piercing hazel eyes.

"Preparing for a day of spying and flying?" Lucien asked lightheartedly, more a teasing observation to erase possible tension than an actual question, but he could sense Azriel tense almost imperceptibly. Lucien doubted anyone else would notice, but he, from his years as Tamlin's emissary, was attuned to such minute responses.

In fact, it was something Lucien noticed Azriel did every time someone spoke to him about flying.

"Why do you do that?" Lucien asked before he could stop himself, knowing Az would understand what he was referring to. As Rhysand's spymaster, it surprised Lucien that Azriel would allow himself to show any signs of discomfort.

Az just looked at him, fixing him with that silent, heavy stare that had most people shifting their gaze elsewhere. But Lucien had grown up in the Autumn Court, a veritable snake pit. As the youngest of seven sons, he had been pushed around enough to know when he was being manipulated. He held his ground.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence and unbroken eye contact, Az sighed, lifting his eyes skyward. When his gaze returned to Lucien's, he could see the resignation in the other male's face.

"I wasn't raised learning how to fly, like the others," Az admitted in that low, smoky voice of his. "What comes naturally to them was nearly impossible for me."

Lucien took a moment to absorb this new information. It explained much of the Az's hesitancy to discuss flying, his slight alienation from his brothers. It also hinted at a troubled past; a story that matched nicely with Az's mysteriously scarred hands.

"Why?"

It was all Lucien asked. He could make all the inferences he wanted, but nothing would satisfy him like the truth. If his own experience with a troubled past was any indication, the other male likely needed to confide in someone. And, in Lucien's own experience, it was easier to speak to an outsider than it was to show weakness to one's family.

Az shifted once, then answered, "I would prefer you ask someone else about my tragic past." It was attempted levity, but a raw undertone betrayed a wound that hadn't healed.

Lucien considered backing down. After all, he knew how painful it could be, unearthing a past that was better left far below the surface. Then he thought of Elain, a raw wound of his own. Sweet, beautiful Elain, who he had treated like glass. Lucien could reassure himself all he wanted that he had done right by her; that he had been respectful; that space was what she needed.

But there was a voice inside him. It was quiet, but Lucien knew it was right. It was the voice that told him he'd been a fool. Elain may have been human, or at least retained her humanity beneath her fae skin, but no matter what form she took, she had a heart of iron, not glass. He should not have treated her like she would break at the slightest gust of wind, and he'd be damned if he made that mistake again. Some wounds would heal with time, he knew that, but others were so raw, so serious, that they couldn't be ignored.

"I suppose I could," Lucien replied smoothly, "but it wouldn't do you any good." He reclined against the wall, positioning his body in a way that would tell Az he intended to stay a while.

Az gave another deep sigh—something Lucien was quickly discovering to be one of his favorite pastimes—and leaned against the wall opposite him. It was a small, cozy room that left them close enough to speak without being too close. _But what is too close?_ Lucien wondered. The thought quickly passed from his mind as Az began to speak.

"I had a father who was cruel and brothers who enjoyed seeing me suffer. But then," Azriel said, his face impassive, "I suppose you'd know all about that."

Lucien fought the urge to flinch from that cool observation. The events of his childhood were hardly a secret, and if Rhysand's own spymaster didn't know about his past…But that was behind him. He had shouldered jabs and pointed comments about his family and his childhood for as long as he could remember, and he'd be damned if he showed any weakness now.

In the end, Lucien only nodded, a powerful admission in its own right, and waited for Az to continue. His hesitancy was obvious, but, as Lucien predicted, there were some things that needed to be spoken, and sometimes it didn't matter who was listening.

"When I was young, my father's wife locked me in a basement. She didn't like that I was my father's bastard son. Neither did my brothers." Az's gaze became distant, lost in the past. "I wasn't permitted to learn how to fly, to see the light of day, to see my own mother—"

Az's voice caught in his throat, the soft catch of an old wound still fresh. Lucien's body pulled away from the wall and towards Az before he even knew what was happening. He caught himself before he took a step forward. His movement pulled Az back to the present, his face unreadable.

"How did you escape?" Lucien asked, partly from curiosity, partly because he wished to distract Az from analyzing his movements.

"I didn't." Lucien raised a brow. "When my talent as a Shadowsinger was discovered, they dropped me off at the nearest war camp to be trained," Az clarified with an air of finality.

"I'm sorry," Lucien said gravely. He knew it was an inadequate response, but what else was there to say? Az inclined his head, the gravity in his gaze assuring Lucien that Az understood what he was attempting to convey.

"You were right, though," Lucien continued, "about my family." He didn't know why he was talking, only, he realized with some appreciation of the irony, that it was likely the same reason he assumed Az was confiding in him. "Although I'm sure you know all about my messy childhood. It's practically common knowledge at this point." He was surprised at the bitterness, abundantly clear in his voice.

Az, to his credit, didn't react like others would, like others had—with false pity or cruel humor. Instead, he only nodded solemnly, acknowledging Lucien's pain, but not dismissing it. Lucien felt absurdly grateful, not knowing how much he had needed that solidarity, just once, from another who had suffered at the hands of their family. Lucien caught his gaze drifting toward Az's hands; the hands that, like Lucien's golden eye, would never let the world forget their past.

Az, noticing Lucien's inadvertent staring, glanced down, following Lucien's gaze to his scarred hands. Az lifted those hands in front of him, briefly studying them along with Lucien. Lucien wished he knew what the other male was thinking, but when Az's eyes returned to his own, there was no reproach. Only a contemplative look, directed at Lucien's own scar.

"I suppose the only difference between you and me, is that the right people found me," Az said, "after." Lucien knew what he meant, and he lowered his eyes to the floor in shame. After escaping his family, Az had found Rhysand and Cassian. As he felt a faint ghost of pain where his real eye used to be, Lucien considered that he had not been nearly as lucky. He couldn't imagine what the other male thought of him after what had happened in the Spring Court, with Tamlin. Thoughtlessly, he reached up, brushing the scarring around his golden eye.

He was so absorbed in his own memories that he almost jumped when he felt fingers, soft as a shadow, brush against his own. He looked up in surprise to see that Az had silently crossed the room, now directly in front of him, and was gently tugging Lucien's hand away from his scar. Too stunned to do anything but remain still, he allowed Az to tilt his chin up toward the light from the window.

Normally, Lucien resented people who looked too long as his eye and surrounding scar. He assumed it was because he disliked the staring, but now, as Az's gaze held nothing but curiosity—no pity, no disgust—he only felt an unfamiliar, slightly uncomfortable pounding in his chest. He realized, with some surprise, that that pounding was his heart.

Emboldened by Az's actions, and a little unsure as to the reality of the situation, he reached up and captured the hand that held his chin with his own. He glanced down, allowing himself to study Az's scarred hands with that same lack of pity. His hands were ridged with scar tissue, swirling in patterns that Lucien recognized as burn wounds. He doubted many people would know the scarring came from flames, but as fire was the High Lord of the Autumn Court's element, Lucien had intimate knowledge of what a burn could look like—and just how painful it must have been when inflicted.

"We really are two of a kind," Az remarked, and there was something in the way he said it, like he'd had the thought before, that made Lucien shiver. The shadows still surrounded Az as they always did, but there was something lighter about them now, more soothing than unnerving. As Az moved slightly, almost imperceptibly closer, Lucien felt as though the shadows, which seemed like an extension of Az himself, were slowly enveloping him. There was a new tension in both their bodies, and as Az moved even closer, his hand still in Lucien's, Lucien felt his back press up against the wall.

"We've both suffered," Lucien agreed softly, "perhaps more than any of them will ever know. And if we can find comfort in someone who knows, who understands…" Heart pounding in his chest, Lucien pushed his fingers through Az's own, interlocking them. His breath was coming fast, and suddenly, he felt like he was making a mistake. He had misread Az, the situation, he should just pull back and—

Lucien's heart stuttered as he felt Az's other hand brush his face. His eyes flicked up to Az's, and the intensity in the other male's gaze was almost too much to bear. He could only stare as he felt Az's fingers move across his cheek.

There was a slight smile on Az's face as he brought a few strands of Lucien's hair between them. In the morning light, Lucien's vibrant hair shone every color from the palest gold to the deepest auburn. Without a word, Lucien ran his free hand across Az's face, mirroring the other male's movements as he buried it in Az's lush, black hair.

Az dropped the strands he had been holding, gently pushing back Lucien's hair as he leaned forward, pressing his lips to Lucien's.

And now there was nothing but Azriel's mouth on his, their hands intertwined, his back against the cool stone wall. Lucien could hear nothing but his pulse pounding in his ears. He let out an involuntary gasp as Az's mouth left his own, moving across his jaw and down to his throat. Neck arched, head against the wall, breathing heavily, Lucien felt utterly helpless. As Az's lips returned to his, he felt, for the first time in Cauldron knows how long, completely alive.

After a few moments of intense, almost desperate kissing, Lucien allowed his hands to roam. Over Azriel's tense shoulders, back through his thick hair, down his back, until his fingers reached something entirely unfamiliar. It didn't take Lucien long to realize that his hands had found Az's wings. Intrigued by the interesting rumors he had heard, he let his fingers brush the slightly tough membrane.

He quickly pulled away as he felt a violent tremor run through Az's body.

"No," Az breathed against his mouth, so close he could feel the movement of Az's lips against his own as he spoke. "Don't stop." Hardly in a position to argue, Lucien let one hand return to Az's wing, the other moving to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Az's answering moan was the sweetest sound he had ever heard.

After what could have been one moment or a thousand, Az pulled back. He was still close, but, Lucien thought, not nearly close enough.

"I must go," Az said, slightly breathless against his lips. Lucien wasn't sure if he was imagining the wistful, apologetic tone of his voice. He hoped he wasn't.

He wanted to protest, but then he heard what the other male must have heard just moments ago. There were voices in the corridor, sounds of the household waking up and beginning their day. Had so little time passed since he had stood in the bracing wind, thinking about all the ways his life had gone awry?

Still dazed, Lucien could only nod as they untangled themselves. What was there to say? Words couldn't describe what had happened between them. He could only watch as Az gave him one last long, unreadable look before leaving the room, heading toward the upper balconies where Lucien himself had just been.

Lucien hoped no one would pass by this way for a while, because he seemed to be having trouble thinking, let alone moving from his current position. He was still leaning against the wall, precisely where Az had left him.

 _Azriel._

Lucien was not raised to be happy. Everything in his very long life had pushed him toward the contrary. But maybe, like Azriel, he too could learn to become something, to do something that life had thought it could deprive him of. Maybe Az could show him how.

###

The following night, high in the peaks of the Night Court, under the star-flecked sky, Lucien was not alone.


End file.
